A Day in the Life of Knife
by Tyramir
Summary: Knife stares at the hated thing on her kitchen counter, trapped in the past and unable to move on.


7:00 AM

She still thought of herself as 'Knife', even though that life was gone now. Knife was dead now, just like Veld, and Nunchaku, and Shotgun, and Legend, and Gun, and all the others. She put away her blades, now resting inside a safe in her upstairs linen closet. She pawned off her gun, and tossed aside her Shinra ID. Most of her Shinra-issued Materia was gone. Had to be careful with that stuff. Shinra loved to laser-etch the company logo onto them. Anyone looking for it would be able to recognize it. She was down to just one piece, and was still debating whether or not to save it for a rainy day, throw it away, or sell it on the black market.

But this morning, this morning she would finally get rid of the suit. She'd put it off for a week now, getting rid of this one last vestige from her past. The past she could never go back to.

She contemplated the trash bin in front of her, holding the neatly pressed suit to her chest. It was the kitchen trash in her new apartment for her cover identity, and aside from a few bloodied bandages, it was otherwise empty. She hadn't had time to put anything else in it. It was the regular sort of trash bin you'd expect. Grey plastic, dull despite being brand new, with a normal black bag inside. It was plain and depressing. Exactly the same kind of trash can they'd had back in the Turk offices. And because it was new, it was every bit as immaculate as the one the Turks had.

Oh, the one in the offices hadn't been new, of course. It'd seen its share of battles, mostly from Reno throwing – and frequently missing – other people's lunches into it the second their backs were turned. How many times had Shuriken – or Cissnei or whatever her code name of the week was – come back from the bathroom to find her pasta spattered across the side of that stupid trash bin?

Just enough times to snap and dangle Reno outside the window by his tie, actually.

Tseng had always cleaned it up, his eyes filled with disapproval. Tseng hated when things went against the natural order, but he found a lot of peace in cleaning them up. It was probably what made him such a good Turk.

Knife held her suit and stared at her stupid trash bin, and tried to shut the memories away. She wasn't the sentimental type. No Turks were, really. Well, maybe Rude. He'd always been such a softie, and—

"Dammit," she whispered, shutting her eyes. "Stop it."

She set the old uniform down on her pristine kitchen counter and went to go make coffee. She'd deal with it later.

 _9:30 AM_

Everything was new, and she hated that.

Midgar had a feel to it, like an old car left in the wilderness, rusted and falling apart, but defiant of nature. It didn't care for all the green and life about it, it stubbornly kept on being the wreck that it was, and it didn't care what anyone thought about that fact.

But Mideel was content to work with nature. The town was interspersed with trees and green and life, and it was decidedly unhealthy and hit her allergies in a way she hadn't known was possible. And everyone expected everything to be so clean. Not Tseng levels of clean, but still kind of tidy. People were expected to weed out their gardens – _people had gardens_ – and Knife didn't know if she had that in her. She was kind of a slob sometimes. Not as bad as Reno, but still a slob. Maintaining a garden seemed like madness, and sure enough to make her old injuries ache with the effort.

Part of her inwardly wished that this entire town would get swallowed up into some chasm.

She hadn't chosen Mideel. The group had, when they'd decided they'd randomly select new places to start over. Each person had their own methods. Legend had spun around in circles with his eyes closed, one finger pointing to the horizon, and when he'd stopped, he'd just started walking. Katana had gotten that look in his eyes like he was going to hit the road and never come off it. He'd always had that wanderlust in him. Rod said something about opening up a new garage, but that might've just been a cover if any of them were discovered. And Cissnei had said she was going to a travel agency and was going to pick whatever fare was set in the dead middle, but everyone knew she'd probably hit Costa Del Sol.

Knife had listed out all the places she could think of, assigned a number to each, and had just rolled dice.

And now she was stuck in some wood house with fresh varnish and a dust-free walkway despite all the dirt in the nearby soil, and everyone was smiling like they meant it. Knife was pretty good at faking cheer, so she knew the signs, and these people had none of them. They genuinely seemed happy, and that was just _weird_.

Among all these smiling strangers, Knife had never felt so utterly alone.

Knife strolled through the stone pathways – hadn't these people ever heard of pavement? – of Mideel, her suit neatly folded inside of a plastic bag swinging from her arm. She couldn't throw it out. It had made it into the trash bin twice since breakfast, and both times she'd fished it out.

She was wearing a sundress now, and absolutely hated it. But she needed to stick to character. Had to keep smiling. She was Deva now, formerly of Kalm, a woman who'd always wanted to see the world outside of her rustic village, and the idea of Mideel, all warm and sunny, was exactly where Deva wanted to live.

Knife was dead, and the sooner she threw out this reminder from her past and stopped thinking of herself by that code name, the better.

So her heart absolutely leapt into her throat when she heard a female voice call from behind her, "Knife!"

She turned, wishing she still had some kind of weapon on her, and saw Shotgun, a lopsided smile on her face. And she was still wearing her Turk suit. And carrying her namesake weapon. It was like she wasn't even trying to hide.

"What're you doing here?" Knife growled.

"Hello to you, too," Shotgun said.

"Yes, fine, hello. Now what are you doing here?"

"I live here," Shotgun said, spreading her arms wide and gesturing to the entire town.

"No, you lived here before you were a Turk. You can't live here _now_."

"Why not?"

Knife was never sure if Shotgun was mentally deficient or not some days. She _seemed_ intelligent , but every once in a while, she'd do some fool thing to prove everyone wrong. Usually by opening her mouth.

"Because this is my hiding spot!" Knife hissed.

She grabbed Shotgun by the arm and pulled her close, looking around to make sure no one was within earshot. Shotgun didn't seem to particularly care.

"I didn't hear you call dibs," Shotgun countered.

"You didn't…" Calm. She had to be calm. And she couldn't choke Shotgun out in the middle of a street, no matter how passive the citizens of Mideel seemed. "You do know we're supposed to be in hiding, right?"

"Well, of course."

"We're supposed to be dead. So why are you wearing a Turk suit?"

"I decided that just picking up a new identity was too easy. Shinra would never have a chance of finding me that way. I figured I'd rub their noses in it, make them come looking for me."

"Why would you do that?"

"This is more fun."

"More… fun," Knife said blandly.

Of course Shotgun would try to turn it into one of her personal challenges.

"Fine," Knife said. "Dibs. This is my spot now. Go somewhere else."

"You can't… this is my home town. You can't call dibs! Besides, all my stuff is here already."

"You should've thought about that before you came here."

That didn't seem to sit too well with Shotgun. Her face turned into a slight pout, but it was only a momentary shadow before her eyes lit up. And then she ran off into the distance.

Somehow, Knife knew that her life had just gotten more complicated.

 _11:27 AM_

Knife found Shotgun about two hours later, running through the middle of town and dragging a large branch behind her. She was wearing overalls and not her typical suit, so Knife just left it be and continued to do her circuit around town. With Shotgun's antics, she had to absolutely make certain there was no Shinra presence in Mideel, or she'd have to move. She probably should anyway, just to be sure.

She couldn't afford to put down roots. She was on the run now. Probably would be forever. But she also knew that if she allowed Shotgun to chase her out of Mideel, the problem would find her again down the road. Shotgun needed to realize that they couldn't just challenge Shinra to come find them. They had to be prepared, had to treat it like a serious threat.

So Knife took a few precautions. She stocked up on some new blades, a few guns, even some anti-personnel mines, mostly through a weapons shop. The general store of all places had grenades for sale. What was the planet coming to if the general store of all places sold grenades without even asking for ID?

There was also an adorable little white chocobo running around the market in Mideel. She didn't know why it was, but it seemed excited by anything shiny. So, she crossed another item off her list and got rid of her Shinra-issued Contain Materia by hiding it in the chocobo's feathers. Let that confuse someone later. She could just imagine the look someone would get on their face if they ever found that Materia there.

Knife pushed it out of her head. She had to prepare. She was going to make sure her new house was a death trap to assault.

She also contemplated buying a large tub and some acid. It'd make things easier. It was pragmatic, and her Turk training said, pragmatic was always best. But she'd worked with Shotgun long enough to quickly dismiss that idea.

Knife was just on her way between shopping trips, dropping stuff off at her new place so she could go out and buy some dried food when Shotgun was suddenly up in her face.

"Wrong side," she said.

"Wrong side of what?"

Shotgun pointed to the ground, and Knife followed the gesture with her eyes. There, in the brown soil, was a line. The earth had been furrowed, probably with that branch Shotgun had dragged all through town.

"Is that what I think it is?" Knife asked.

"Yep," Shotgun said. "This side of Mideel is mine. That side is yours."

Knife gave a pointed look across the line to where the only building of any worth in the entire town was located. "I notice you have the bar."

"Funny how that works! Crazy, random chance, I tell ya."

Knife grunted. At least she had the general store on her side of the line. And her house. She wouldn't have been surprised if Shotgun had tried to call dibs on that, too.

"If I obey your silly line," Knife said, "will you behave and not draw unwanted attention?"

"That defeats the purpose of the line! I get to do whatever I want on my side of it, you can do whatever you want on your side of it."

"If you attract Shinra here, they're not going to respect the line system. They'll stomp all over it with jackboots while looking for Turks to gun down."

"I know, but… I need something, Knife."

"It's Deva now," she countered. "Maybe you should consider getting a new name."

"I like being Shotgun. Didn't you like being Knife?"

"Of course I did. It doesn't matter. She's dead now. So is Shotgun."

And then she turned and left, going back home.

 _2:34 PM_

Knife set herself to work and started preparing her house for a siege. The smart thing to do would've been just to leave town, but if she did that, she'd be letting Shotgun win. And if there was one thing you could never do, it was let Shotgun win anything. It just made her expand the competition.

No, if she gave in, Shotgun would just abandon Mideel after Shinra found her and they'd had their little showdown, and then move onto the next town, where some other Turk would inevitably be hiding. Knife needed to hold her ground. And hopefully show Shotgun what an idiot she was being.

The work was calming, in a way. She threw herself into it, fortifying her little house to withstand an assault. She installed bulletproof glass, reinforced her door and put in some better locks. She was going to wait for cover of darkness to put in remotely detonated mines in her garden and walls. Her neighbours were already giving her enough strange looks.

The effort actually set her mind to ease. While she was worried about what might come, part of her was glad to prepare for it. It was like she was taking control back in her life, something she hadn't had since… well, since she'd been forced into hiding.

Her neighbours watched her work. It was like she was a spectacle. People came from their homes, or stopped what they were doing, and would pause in front of her house. Never for too long. And they never made comment. But what she was doing was unusual. And they were curious.

Knife wasn't sure if she liked that.

Her hip twinged with pain. Her old wound, flaring up again. She'd need to look into some decent Materia healing one of these days. Turk health insurance always refused to cover it, since it'd been a pre-existing condition, but she'd kept trying to sneak it past the paper pushers anyway. It had become a game to her, one that Reno was all too happy to help with. They'd come up with new and inventive ways to put it onto some clerk's desk, ready to be filed through, and it'd always bounce back at them.

Knife found herself smiling wistfully at the memory as she worked. Those had been good times.

But now they were gone.

She found herself in her house again, staring at that damn suit. This time, it ended up in the trash can. A minute later, she'd fished it out again.

 _5:01 PM_

The mayor of all people stopped by her house as she was taking a break. She was enjoying a nice, cold lemonade – freshly squeezed, and not artificial Mako-fed crap you'd find in Midgar either – when he decided to make his appearance. He was a pot-bellied fellow who might've been something in his prime, but had apparently let his station get the better of his health and had long since gone to seed. He wore a chain of office, but the rest of his outfit was about as unprofessional as it got. He had one of those tropical, button up T-shirts, all done in bright colours with lots of designs of flowers all over it, only none of the buttons were done up, leaving his gut to hang out in full display.

Knife tried not to make any inappropriate jokes as the man walked up to her porch, a wide, welcoming smile on his face.

"Howdy," he said. "I don't think we've ever been formally introduced. I'm Pete Lancet, mayor of Mideel."

"Pleasure," Knife said.

"And you are?"

"Deva," she answered.

"And what brings you to our town?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, and rebalanced the stack of phone books she'd collected before they toppled over. Stupid porch liked to creak and wobble a little too much whenever someone walked on it. He probably wanted to know what the phone books were for. Probably best not to tell him.

Turk Pro Tip #32: Tape, nail, glue and staple enough phone books together, and you can make anything bulletproof. Including the interior of a car. Or a house.

"Just starting over," she said, and wished she hadn't said it as soon as the words left her mouth.

"Oh yeah?" he said. "Good thing, starting over. We get a few of your kind every once in a while."

"My kind?"

"Yeah. Y'know. Former soldiers, from the war."

She grunted non-committedly.

"And I figured, with your service record, obvious as it is… did you want a job?"

"What job?"

"Sheriff."

Knife choked on that a little. "I… I just moved here. And you want to take me sheriff? Are you crazypants?"

"We don't got anyone else willing to do it, and everyone's talking about how you stood up to Elsie."

"Elsie?" she asked before realizing he must've meant Shotgun.

"Yeah. Hard head on that one. Stubborn, proud, and doesn't like to bend. No one likes to confront her about anything. Tend to lack the spine. I'm a good judge of character. Whole town's been watching you today, and saying nothing but good."

Knife winced. That was the last thing she needed.

"Well, I'm flattered—"

"Think it over," he said. "I know you types. Always feel like you're not worthy. That you don't deserve anything good. But an offer like this, it's genuine. You should consider it."

 _8:23 PM_

Knife built up a bonfire in her backyard. She invited the neighbours, and offered them beer and slow-cooked meat. If people were going to notice her, let them talk about that pig roast she'd thrown everyone, and not about how she'd fortified her house against attack.

They chatted with her, all inane small talk, but she put on her best smile that hid her dead eyes, and gossiped for all she was worth. They talked about the weather, about the fishing, about her new garden, and asked her inane questions. Just once, she wanted one of these people to ask her opinion on the latest Lariat model, or ask her to prank the nearest bald, intense person who didn't get out enough.

But it was the very definition of small talk. Small talk from small people with small concerns. She tried to fit in, but she just couldn't, no matter how hard she tried. And eventually they moved off, thanking her for the drink or the meal, and then went to go talk to someone else with their trivial daily routine.

Knife tried to pretend like it didn't hurt, like she didn't actually want to fit in. But there was an old rule in the office. Turks don't have friends. And it never felt truer until that moment.

"Hey, loser," Shotgun said, sidling up to her.

Knife stared at her in surprise. "Hey."

"Hope you don't mind me crashing your side of the line. I heard one of the neighbours was throwing a pig roast."

"Yeah. It's my pig roast."

"Oh. Sorry. Uhm. I suppose I should've called."

She looked genuinely sad for some reason. And then Knife realized why.

"Sorry. I … I meant to invite you."

"No, I get it. We're not Turks anymore. You don't need to pretend we're friends. We're… we're only going to endanger each other if we hang out, right?"

"That's the theory." Knife took a sip of her beer. "That's what we all decided, when we went into hiding."

Shotgun smiled, but Knife had seen enough smiles like that in the Turk offices to recognize a fake one. They were the kind the team always put on whenever they had to swallow their pride and do something questionable. Cissnei had been especially good at them.

"Screw it," Knife said. "You can stay. Just don't eat all the pork, I plan on living on those leftovers for the next week."

But from the way Shotgun's eyes had turned into a lustful, greedy stare, Knife already knew that request was futile.

 _10:46 PM_

The guests all went their separate ways. They all had work the next day, daily lives to worry about, and couldn't stay up in the middle of the week drinking with Knife. She kind of missed Reno and Rude. Now those were a pair of power drinkers who wouldn't be deterred by a lowly hour still of the PM variety. No, they'd keep on drinking until the sun came to greet them, and then clock into work and pretend like they weren't hung over, all while Tseng made disapproving clucking noises and tried to cover for them when Veld came by.

Knife gazed into the flames, and could see the faces of all those she'd lost. Those that stayed behind, safe in their ignorance. Those that had parted in every direction the wind would take them. She even missed some of the board. Weird, that. Rufus, and the smarmy smile of his. Palmer, and his love of sweets. Even Heidegger and his ridiculous laugh, if not exactly the man himself.

She stared into that fire, and lived in the memory.

"What're you thinking?" Shotgun asked, eating what had to be her fifth pork sandwich of the night.

"Old friends. Old enemies. The same things I think about every night."

"Yeah. Me too. You ever wonder if we'll ever go back?"

"There is no going back," Knife said.

 _There is no going back_.

Those words bounced in her head, over and over, and she thought of that suit, that damned suit, sitting on her kitchen counter. She turned, marching into her house, Shotgun making a surprised squawk at the sudden departure.

Knife exited with her uniform in hand, staring at that fire. All she had to do was burn it. Burn the uniform, and it was official. No more Turk. She'd be done. She'd be free. Officially out, no more ties holding her back. She could get on with her life.

Knife pulled her arm back to pitch the suit into the bonfire, but Shotgun caught her wrist.

"Don't," she said.

Knife shook her head. "We have to. We're not Turks anymore. We're just civilians. It's time to move on."

"You can move on and not throw it away."

"No. It doesn't work that way. We can't have any attachments."

"Then I'll go!" Shotgun cried. "I'll go, and leave Mideel, and you'll never have to see me again. But please, don't burn the memory. Keep the suit. Please."

There it was again. That damned sadness in her eyes. Knife could feel that pain, burning in the back of her throat. She didn't want to be alone in this. She didn't know if she could do it by herself.

"I don't know what to do," Knife admitted.

"I do. Come on, follow me. He's probably passed out, but I know how to wake him up."

 _11:17 PM_

Shotgun took Knife – all but dragged her, really – to the mayor's house. Sure enough, he was passed out on his couch, a few too many drinks in him, but Shotgun had made a quick stop to her place to pick up a pair of pots which she began to bang together as she marched from one end of Mayor Pete's property to the next.

He came to his door, rubbing at his bleary eyes and apparently very out of it. "Elsie? What the devil are you doing?"

"Waking you up," Shotgun said.

"And I'm here to arrest her," Knife said wryly. "For disturbing the peace."

"Traitor," Shotgun said with a grin.

"What?" Pete asked.

Knife put on her best smile and stood as straight as she could, trying to look every inch the professional she was. "I'd like to accept your job offer, if it's still available."

"Oh. _Oh_. Excellent. Good!" He smacked his lips together, yawned, and then stared balefully at Shotgun. "First order of business. Punish that one thoroughly. Make sure she stays in line."

"Should be easy," Shotgun said. "I expect to be exiled. Cast away! Marooooooooned."

"You're not getting off that easy," Knife said.

"What? You're not running me out of town?"

"We're out of tar and feathers, unfortunately. No, you'll be sticking around for a bit."

"Really?" Shotgun asked.

"Yeah. Who else am I going to have as my deputy?"

Shotgun's eyes lit up, and she looked about to squeal. Worse, looked about to hug. Knife held up one hand.

"There's a condition!" she said. "No hugging. And I mean it!"

Her glower and harsh words didn't stop the attack, though. Shotgun's arms were around her in an instant, all while she made a delighted noise. Knife looked to Pete for help, but he was leaned against his doorframe, already snoring. She'd have to remind him of this conversation in the morning.

But for now, she was content to enjoy the moment.

"Okay, seriously, stop hugging me or I'm going to get my blades out of storage and cut you."

Well, mostly.

Author's Notes:

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I'm a published author! My original novel, Red Blossoms the Sky, is available on Smashwords, Kobo, Barnes and Noble, and Indigo / Chapters.


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